


alethiology; the study of truth

by valeskaisms



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Bad with feelings, Confusion, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Flashbacks, Fluff, I guess???, I wrote most of this at midnight then finished it over 24 hours later at 3am, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Light Angst, Nonbinary Character, Or did they?, Other, Pining, Secret Relationship, Sort Of, Unresolved Romantic Tension, dumb boys, i mean when Beelzebub fell they both forgot their memories of each other, idk it’s midnight and this popped into my head, kind of, kinda sad, the swear in the summary is the only one in the entire work don’t worry, they/them pronouns, unanswered questions, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-17 03:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valeskaisms/pseuds/valeskaisms
Summary: Sometimes they wonder what it was like before. Sometimes they wonder why they can’t stop fucking wondering when they’ll never know.





	alethiology; the study of truth

Smooth, almost delicate fingers wind around their wrist. Beelzebub is quick to swat them away, not wanting to draw unwanted attention. There’s already people staring, and they’re convinced that everybody knows about the two of them. In truth, most didn’t care enough to notice. They’ve been a LOT more cautious than a certain other couple, and both angels and demons are rather more concerned with the aftermath of their failure to bring about the apocolypse than the way Gabriel’s hand is trying to sneak up their arm again. Even so, Beelzebub can’t help being paranoid. Perhaps it’s in their nature (not that they’d admit it — Gabriel has learnt by now not to bring it up). Beelzebub’s smaller, yet more calloused, hand reaches to grab at Gabriel’s, black fingernails lightly pressing into the soft flesh, desperately trying to pry the angel from his arm. They do not want to be seen like this. Not with him. And so they give the angel a stern look. A look that means ‘enough now, or else’.

With a raised brow, Beelzebub speaks to his angelic counterpart in a voice that is meant to be a whisper, but is a little too loud to be classed as such, “Not in public. I told you. Take your handzzz off of me. Too much rizzzk.” Their buzzing is a little more apparent than usual, as is always so when the Lord of Flies gets annoyed or otherwise frustrated. 

Gabriel hesitantly complies and ignores the bubble of curiousity that always seems to surface around the Prince of Hell. Part of him wonders whether things would have been better had Beelzebub still been... whoever they were before. Gabriel couldn’t quite remember. Had they ever held hands, before all this? Without judgement? For all he knows they may have hated each other. Still, as the possibilities fill his head his heart aches with the loss of the memories stolen from both of them. However, he pushes them away. It’s all a part of Her plan, and he can’t afford to be angry at that. To question it. Not now. Not ever. Little does he know that Beelzebub has similar thoughts. They wish they didn’t. They hate themself for having such thoughts; for caring enough to think about it. Yet they both suffer in silence. They look each other in the eye for a single moment, and yet there’s a feeling that they may never truly see each other. Not when half of their memories are missing. Bare, empty spaces where the past should be. 

Beelzebub turns to leave. They’re always the first to leave, and Gabriel is usually the first to let them. This time, it seems, is different. As if by reflex, without any conscious decision to do so, Gabriel places a hand onto the demon’s shoulder. Gabriel is as confused as Beelzebub is - it’s as if his hand made a choice of its own without consulting him first. 

“What did I zzzay a—“ Beelzebub starts, but soon they are cut off by a flicker of something within their own mind. The flash is brief, yet they find themselves deep within the moment. A hand in theirs, what looks like... Gabriel? And a place that feels familiar, but so, so distant. By the time the shock has faded, Gabriel is being dragged away to some kind of angelic brief by his peers. A facial expression that reads ‘I’m sorry’, and then he is gone. Beelzebub is left alone to consider what just happened. To consider what it means, and quite frankly, whether they want to know. That place... they almost know what it is. Almost, yet not quite. It’s not enough. They need to know more. The frustration writhes beneath their skin. One of the many things that irks Beelzebub is not knowing something. And this... well, this seems to be a rather monumental thing to not know. It could be the key to finding out who they were. About them and Gabriel, back before... but they’re unsure. 

It feels wrong in a sense. What if they end up finding out something that they don’t want to know? What if it ruins everything? Beelzebub isn’t at all sure whether they want to know. They know it may be unfair not to tell Gabriel about this, but they’d rather keep it a secret, at least until they know whether they want to discover more. It’s glaringly obvious to them that Gabriel would want to know. His optimistic self likely wouldn’t foresee the possiblility that he wouldn’t like what he’d see. Beelzebub would have to weigh it all up before they told him and let him possibly destroy everything they have. They would never plainly admit that they ‘have’ anything between them, but it was obvious to both of them that they did, even if unspoken. 

The rest of Beelzebub’s day is filled with rather boring and frustratingly pointless meetings. Quite often they question the point of such official gatherings when very little happens of any importance. Part of them is glad for this, though, as they can afford to allow their mind to wander as a lesser demon drawls about a plan to get a _new_ devilspawn to become Prime Minister in order to reignite Armageddon. Beelzebub thinks this new spawn’s initials, BJ, are the demon’s lewd attempt at a joke. They manage to drown out the sound of the demon’s obnoxious voice for a few moments to think hard about what they can remember. The place. Yes, the place. It looked almost white, clean. The complete opposite of Hell. Wait. The complete opposite... no. That’s impossible. Of course, by logic Beelzebub knows that before their fall they must have been one of _them up there_ , but they’ve also been reminded time and time again that it’s impossible to access any memories from before. It’s quite possibly the cruelest punishment of all. Their thoughts are interrupted when the voices surrounding them begin to get louder. Returning to reality from their thoughts, the Prince of Hell notices a few lesser demons having a rather aggressive argument, and within moments the meeting is in turmoil with just about every demon shouting at another. Quite honestly, at times like these they wonder why the lot of them haven’t lost their jobs by now. They’re rather sick of having to deal with their peers acting like children. 

Beelzebub raises a hand to shush the others, glancing at the peeling nail polish on their thumb before raising their voice. They speak with authority, but without aggression, “Zzzilence! The lot of you are enough to drive me inzzzane.” Some of the demons seem to grin at that, seemingly taking that as a compliment. Perhaps driving somebody to insanity would usually be an accomplishment for a demon, but not when that somebody is Beelzebub. A challenging glare at those still smirking is enough to send the message. Now feeling sheepish, everyone seems to finish what they have to say rather quickly, and within fifteen minutes the other demons are filing out of the door, a few shoving past each other impatiently. Dagon lingers, likely waiting to inform Beelzebub of something not all that important. Yet they suppose that Dagon is not quite as annoying as the rest, so Beelzebub lets them speak. 

“What izzz it, Dagon? Izzz it urgent?” Beelzebub asks, not meaning to be rude at all, but merely wanting to discover whether the information could wait until later when they would hopefully have a clearer head. They poise a hand below their chin and sit forwards. The flies buzzing around Beelzebub’s head spread to hover around their fingers. Dagon takes a few steps closer in order to respond to the Prince of Hell, hand darting to move a strand of greasy hair from in front of their face, before shaking their head. 

“No, not particularly. It’s paperwork stuff, really. Needs to be done, but it can wait,” comes Dagon’s response. Demons don’t tend to have friends, but if Beelzebub had to choose somebody to class as one, it would be Dagon. They’re the least irritating of everyone, and they actually seem to have some braincells inside that demonic mind of theirs, unlike most of the others around Hell. 

Beelzebub gives a nod in acknowledgement, followed by a brief reply. “Leave it until later, pleazzze, Dagon,” they ask. It’s rare for Beelzebub to feel the need to be polite and say please; nobody is ever polite to them. However, Dagon makes their job a little easier so they tend not to skip the niceties when talking to them. Dagon disappears from the room and once again Beelzebub is alone. They can’t stop thinking about that teasing glimpse into the past. No matter how they try to distract their mind, the Lord of Flies simply cannot stop the image forcing itself into their mind. They can barely think with how loud it is down here. Even in a room alone, the noise levels of Hell seep through every wall until Beelzebub is drowned by incessant noise. 

Unable to properly think things through in Hell, Beelzebub goes up to the surface, making sure nobody is watching them. There aren’t many places that they are familiar with, so they go to the first quiet place that comes to mind. A rusty bench in the middle of a park. Overgrown violets tickle their ankles as they try to think. The longer they analyse the tiny memory, the longer they spend trying to make a decision, the more frustrated they get. Beelzebub feels as though they’re about to go insane from the whole thing. A sudden tap to their shoulder and they nearly discorporate; so deep in their thoughts that it had entirely shocked them.

Beelzebub turns, ready to curse out whoever had tapped them, only to see Gabriel sliding beside them on the bench. His pristine grey suit seems mismatched with the crumbling wood that’s about to fall apart. The Prince of Hell opens their mouth to speak to the angel, but nothing comes out. They don’t know what to say. They don’t know whether to tell him about what they saw, but it’s all they can think about, and they’re unsure whether they can have a conservation without accidentally spilling it to him. Gabriel’s hand inches towards theirs, until the two hands are entwined. The whole thing reminds them of the flashback, and before they can control it, they’re blurting it out, “I saw us... before... and—“. Gabriel’s expression has them trailing off. He doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, there’s a small smile on his face.

“Beelz, dear,” Gabriel whispers, his voice slowly getting louder until it reaches a normal volume, “I know. I saw it too. I... I don’t know what it means. But what I do know is that it doesn’t matter. We aren’t who we were back then. We’re us. And I’m happy with that.” Beelzebub is rather taken aback by that, and has to take a moment to pause, to consider, to mull over everything that Gabriel has said. After a few moments, they give the angel’s hand a soft squeeze. A reply comes in the form of a mutter, “Yezzz, I guezzz I am too.”


End file.
